The Recurrence of a Dream
by Meknowenglish
Summary: Harry stays at the Burrow for the summer, and is tortured by nightmares. Are they a result of his encounter with Voldemort, or do they mean something more? Some R/H and a hint of H/G.
1. A Letter and a Dream

_Dear Harry,_

_ Professor Dumbledore has consented on your stay with us for the rest of the holiday. Everything has been sorted out for your trip. Professor Dumbledore will pick you up this Saturday at five 'o' clock, so be sure to tell your Aunt and Uncle. Everyone is looking forward to having you here._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Arthur Weasley_

Harry read the letter, letting each word sink into his brain, its message running through his mind like a river. This was it. He read the letter once more. A smile broke over his face, reaching the tired green eyes. He was really going to go, finally. After two horrible weeks with the Dursleys, he was going back to the Burrow, one of his favorite places. He missed his friend Ron, and all the Weasleys. He had missed them since leaving King's Cross. Harry glanced over the letter again. It was brief; most of the details of his trip had been worked out in previous letters. He folded the letter carefully, as if not wanting to disturb the message inside. He reached to the bed for the next letter from Ron. It was written in eager scrawl. He grinned again. Ron was probably as excited as he was.

_Harry,_

_I still can't believe it's taken two weeks to get you here! Wouldn't believe how annoying Dad has** been. **** 'Patience is a virtue Ron . . . Many things have to **__be** _put in order . . . Ron, quit bugging me and clean your room.' He's still at me about that last bit. Anyway, I'll see you this Saturday. Just_**** hope you survive with those Muggles until then. **_

_ Ron_

Harry put Ron's letter away, still smiling, and immediately began to pack. It was Friday. That meant Dumbledore would come the very next day. He pulled out his travel case, ruefully trying to think of a good opportunity to tell his Uncle Vernon that Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would be coming here the next day. He hoped that Uncle Vernon wouldn't be really rude and say nasty things when Dumbledore arrived; Harry always felt uncomfortable introducing people from the wizarding world to the Dursleys.

Harry paused for a minute, thinking. He supposed that even if the letter had been much in advance, it was doubtful Uncle Vernon would take a different attitude than he would on short notice. He sat on his bed, remembering last year's departure. Funny as it had been, it definitely had made life even more unpleasant at the Dursleys when he returned from Hogwarts. Idly, Harry wondered if Dumbledore could be discreet about picking him up.

He let out a huge sigh, which caused the springs of his old bed to wheeze. It wouldn't do any good. There was still the problem of his spell books, broom, and wand. True to the routine of previous years, the Dursleys had locked up his things, and Harry just couldn't see Dumbledore pairing with him in a brilliant venture to rescue his magical belongings. 'Oh well,' he thought miserably. He couldn't see any possible way that the Dursleys could be more unbearable. And he _would_ be leaving the next day.

He wondered if he should wait until the last possible minute, then figured that Dumbledore wouldn't want him to do** that. Mr. Weasley either. He got to his feet abruptly. 'Just get it over with,' he told himself grimly. He covered the distance from his bed to the door in a few swift strides. His back straight and face determined, he reached for the doorknob, and with much less confidence than he looked like**** he had, opened the door and left his room to find his Uncle.**

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"_BAM!_"

Ron dropped a box in surprise as a thundering blast sounded. There was a sort of silent echo that lasted several seconds after, and then another huge explosion was heard

"FRED! GEORGE! WHAT _ARE_ YOU DOING?"****

Mrs. Weasley was yelling very loudly, but her voice reached nowhere near the deafening meter Fred and George had managed. Ron opened the door to his room and was nearly knocked over by his mother,** who looked ready to kill. Ron closed the door quickly. That _had_ been a loud bang, even for Fred and George. Ron supposed that his mother wouldn't be nearly as angry, had she not known about Weasley Wizard Wheezes. **

As shouting began to erupt in the other room, Ron tried to turn his attention back to his room. It was hard to believe it had been as tidy as a pin when he'd returned from Hogwarts. It now looked as though it had been turned upside down. His school things were unpacked, but lying everywhere. Ron recalled an earlier occasion that week when he had mumbled about not being able to use magic to clean up the mess. Mr. Weasley had overheard, and** had**** been very displeased. **

"Responsibility Ron," he had said. "You can't rely on magic for everything." ****

"Bet I could," Ron had muttered.

His Dad had heard that as well. Then he had told him he'd better clean up before Harry arrived, or no Quidditch.  

Ron could not take the words very seriously for some reason. It was amazing how his parents could get so worked up over a messy room. He had figured out a long time ago that his parents' telling him to clean his room was one of those things they just had to keep nagging him about.

Ron lay on his bed, stretching his legs; he decided to take a short break. He reached over the side of his bed and shuffled around two week's worth of clutter before unearthing a comic. He smoothed the cover, frowned, and read _Wendy the Witch_. There was a picture of a curly-haired girl flying a broom on the cover. "Must be one of Ginny's," he muttered in disgust. The tiny picture of the witch glared at him. Ron threw it absently across the room. He had a very brief idea on how his room got cluttered so quickly. He reached behind the bed again, finding a chess piece this time. It was a pawn, and a very disgruntled one.

"Finally found me, eh!" It said shrilly. Ron raised and eyebrow.

"Sorry," he said. "You must've rolled out when I unpacked my chess set."

"_I_ must have rolled out," it continued angrily. "_You _dropped me!"

Ron wasn't listening however. He tucked the shrieking chess piece in its box, thinking about tomorrow. He was looking forward to playing chess with Harry. After all the time it took just to have him over, he was very much looking forward to seeing his best friend. He frowned suddenly. 'You know what would be better,' he thought dully to himself. '. . . if both your best friends were coming over. It's not like he hadn't invited Hermione. He had written twice to her since school had let out, and hadn't got a response yet. 'Of course it would be very difficult for her to get a letter,' he thought bitterly, 'if she isn't at her house to receive it.' ****

Trying not to think of the possible places Hermione might be, (that would lead to more infuriating speculation) he instead wondered if Harry had got his letter. It was a quick letter, since Ron would be seeing him the next day. His parents had been very anxious about Harry coming. They acted as though he were making some deadly passage. They worried about him a lot, and talked of him often. Mr. Weasley, who had come home late every day this past week, always had some news to tell Mrs. Weasley. Their conversations seemed to be nothing but whispers, and serious ones at that. They didn't talk to Ron about these matters, but Ron heard snatches of their conversations.

Voldemort. Ron still had difficulty saying the name, even had difficulty thinking it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were discussing Voldemort  and Harry's encounter with him last year. Very few believed it, but it was true.

Voldemort had risen. It was hard to grasp. Ron knew it meant many things. Mostly, many terrible things. He thought he heard his parents discussing the Dark Mark one night. Mr. Weasley had explained to Ron, Harry, and Hermione about the Dark Mark. 'Imagine sighting that over your house,' thought Ron sullenly. 'Imagine knowing your family was already dead before even getting home.' The thought unsettled him deeply. Nobody was safe. Muggles, Muggleborns,** half bloods, pure bloods . . . nobody was safe from Voldemort if he ever became as powerful as he was before.**

A door slammed shut. Ron blinked at the ceiling. The flying figures of the Chudley Cannons became clearer above him, and angry steps were descending the stairs. Ron shook his head involuntarily, attempting to deter his current mind set by focusing on the team Seeker, who was zooming as fast as a bullet throughout the posters. Ron considered it very melodramatic to think** about the end of the world. **

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_He was walking on thin air. Each step felt like_** _he was_**** _loosing his footing on a stair; it killed him to walk. Where was he? He couldn't see an inch in front of his face. Every step was torture, but he had to get out, and all he could do was keep walking. _**

_"No. . .Harry. . . not – "_

_He shivered. Was that his mother's voice? Where was she? She sounded so fearful, and so far away. He heard her again. Her words seemed to tug at his soul._

_"Please don't kill him . . ."_

_His breath intakes became sharp and painful. He stood still, feeling an odd shift in the atmosphere. The air was tightening around him, closing him in until he could taste it. It tasted like blood._

_"Blood?" he asked himself. His voice seemed detached from his body. It came from somewhere beyond the darkness, floating to his ears a short while after he said them.  He put his hand to his mouth._

_"**No, not in your mouth, on your hands **_**. . . _"_**

_Who said that? He looked around. He was no longer standing on nothing. The pressure about him lessened, and the ground became very firm. Moonlight spilled from above, illuminating the whole area. The scene was familiar. Was he at Hogwarts? He was conscious of voices, but not bodies. Then earsplitting shrieks began to echo all around him. They sounded like a thousand wine glasses shattering all at once._

_"He's dead . . . Cedric Diggory is dead!"_

_He felt his stomach drop. Why was he here? He couldn't do anything now, and where . . where was Cedric's body? His head began to pound from the innumerable screams. He began to run, the horrible voices following him, until he too was saying their words. Faster, faster . . . faster than he could get them out._

_"Cedric is dead. Cedric is dead." Another shriek pierced his eardrum. Panting, he broke into a heavy run. He desperately wanted to get away._

**_"You can't escape."_**

_Go away, he pleaded, but no sound came from his mouth. Black, pitch black was closing him in yet again. It filled his mouth, suffocating him, preventing any breath from entering him, any word from escaping his lips. He was getting no oxygen, but kept running. His sides seemed ready to burst, and waves of dizziness washed over him._

_"Please, kill me instead . . ." _

_He stopped sharply. A faint green light was glowing ahead. He had stopped running, but the light came closer. It wasn't traveling at an incredible speed, but he found it impossible to move backwards. He could hear his mother faintly. He could also hear the choked sobs and screams of many other voices. The screams were overlapping each other, reverberating – unbearable. His scar began to throb._

_"No, not Harry, please not – "_

_" – Diggory . . .He-he's dead!" His head was in excruciating pain, and the voices intensified his agony. He could barely hear his mother, her voice mingled with so many screams of panic . . . and horror._

_"Stop," he managed through his gritted teeth. His voice was lost in many others. The green light was growing brighter, tucking all corner shadows of his vision. He wanted to clutch his head for the pain, but his limbs were frozen. He tried to swallow, suck in a breath, but was unable to. He himself could not have screamed if he wanted to . . ._

**_"Avada Kedavra!" _**

Harry opened his eyes. They were watering. He was dimly aware that he couldn't see anything. He couldn't breathe either. Then he knew why. Gasping for air, he pulled his head away from his pillow, which had been smothering him. His torso was half off the bed. 

"Oh God . . ." he breathed. His scar was burning with fresh pain, his whole body tense. He swallowed hard and buried his face into his pillow, despite his aching lungs. "When will it stop . . ." 

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Disclaimer: I own nothing. The magical world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. 


	2. Harry Disapparates

"Come on mum, let me have just a bit. I'm starving!"

Ginny smiled at the sound of her brother's pleading voice. It was his umpteenth vain attempt to ask for some food. She glanced up from the book she was reading to look at Ron. She was in the kitchen with her mother, where she was asked to wait for a task to do. 

"Now Ron," returned Mrs. Weasley sharply, "We're not going to eat until Harry comes."

Her back was to him. She was concentrating on a bubbling pot that she had magicked to boil. "Goodness," she said to herself, "It's nearly five 'o' clock." Mrs. Weasley picked up her wand, about to charm the food to self-stir itself, then paused. Suspiciously, another complaint hadn't come from Ron. Eyes narrowed, she turned quickly and slapped Ron's hand, which was sneaking stealthily toward the puddings.

"Serves you right," she said in an aggravated tone. "Now, out! Go clean your room, Harry will be here soon!"

Ginny laughed as Ron walked past her. He scowled at her, but she merely smirked and stuck her tongue out at him. He glowered even more, but under Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye, he did not retaliate. With an exasperated noise, he left the kitchen. Ginny giggled and turned back to her book; it was compiled of short stories. Old as it was, she adored it. 

"Ginny?" 

For a second, she thought her mother had caught her teasing Ron. 

"Yes?" she replied cautiously, expecting a reprimand. 

Mrs. Weasley was putting her wand in her apron pocket. "Would you mind watching this?" She indicated the pot, which was bubbling steadily. 

Ginny sighed quietly with relief. "All right mum." She put down her book on the counter as Mrs. Weasley went past her and disappeared into the living room. Bored, she stared blankly at the mixture in the pot, folding and mixing itself at a sluggish pace.  She wrinkled her nose in distaste. What was this, anyway?  It looked sort of . . . orangey. The fruitless thought was interrupted by the conversation in the other room.

". . . Just be kinder toward him, Ron. He's had a difficu– " 

"Mum! I know already. You think I was going . . ." 

It was Mrs. Weasley and Ron. Their voices faded a little; it was hard to catch the words. Ginny took one last look at orangey concoction, deemed it did not require supervision, and edged toward the discussion in the other room. She walked along the length of the wall, pressed her hands on the doorframe, and peered carefully into the room. She could see Ron and her mother talking at the foot of the stairs. Ron had an expression of slight annoyance on his face.

"If he looks like he wants to be alone, give him his space, " continued Mrs. Weasley.

"I know, I know," said Ron. "You're acting like I haven't known Harry for four years."

"He's been through a lot. Experiences, especially the horrid one he went through, change a person."

Ginny drew away from the door.  She felt a familiar feeling course through her at the sound of that name.  So, they were talking about Harry. She walked back to the counter, nipped a carrot of a dish with one hand, and picked up her book with the other. She felt butterflies in her stomach, as she usually felt every time Harry came to the Burrow.  Naturally, she looked forward to Harry's visits.  Though they rarely talked, it was nice to be in close company to him; at least she didn't turn beet red and become impossibly clumsy at the sight of him anymore.

She nibbled the carrot in her hand, contemplating the incidents at Hogwarts last year. Harry had practically been the center of them. From Professor Dumbledore and her parents, she heard of the horrendous experience he went through. Witnessing the death of Cedric Diggory, coming face-to-face with Lord Voldemort – and seeing his parents as lifeless apparitions . . .a shudder went through her at the thought of it.  

She wasn't quite sure how Voldemort came back, but Harry had been there, she knew that much. He had faced him a fourth time, and had survived. She opened her book, flipping through it absentmindedly. She was not really concentrating on the text, but on her mother's words, which played back to her 'He's been through a lot . . . Experiences, especially the horrid one he went just went through, change a person.' 

Had he changed a great deal? It was difficult for her to tell. She certainly hadn't asked him how he was, but had wanted to. All she could note was external appearance. She tried to recall how he had looked after the third task; so much different from the first time she saw him. 'Yes, definitely different,' she thought vaguely.  A certain quality rested in him, one that hadn't existed before, or that she hadn't noticed before. He had looked . . . older. Her eyebrows furrowed. 'No, that isn't the right word,' she thought, feeling a little ridiculous. Of course he was older, but . . .

What was it then? He hadn't looked angry or depressed; it was almost as if he was tired.  He really wasn't older, but so very young.  Too young to have burdens like Voldemort or death in his life.  'And he's had those burdens, since he was born.' Ginny often heard her mum speak of Harry in that manner, and she herself had realized this before her third year at Hogwarts. It became more apparent after the Triwizard Tournament, though. She then realized how he looked different. There was something weighty in his appearance. As if the entire burden he's had to carry on his shoulders was beginning to sag. He had looked deep in thought the last term, and she wondered what could be on his mind. There was an almost haunting expression on his face. It was as if he were fluttering through a dream; a terrible dream he couldn't wake from.

She would like to do something, to offer him consolation or even a few friendly words, but it would seem rather awkward.  After all he's been through, words like 'Sorry about what happened,' seemed to simplify the means she would like to get across to him.  Yet, she could not express her deepest condolences to him; it wasn't her place to tell him those sort of things.  He had friends for that. Ron and Hermione. They were the people he confided in, and they were there for him. They were his best friends. He didn't need her, or want her, or even really know her. 'And I know that,' thought Ginny. She focused determinedly on her book. A faint feeling stirred in her stomach, a wistful feeling, which she hated.  'But still . . . ' She would still like to be his friend. She really would, but he was so – distant. 

Ginny put down her book, suddenly not having the desire to read it anymore. She picked up and spoon from the counter, dipped it into the viscous substance she was 'supervising,' and sampled it. Stirring the pot a little, she licked her lips thoughtfully. It was quite good, whatever it was.

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Harry sat on the couch in the living room, his hands knotted in his lap. He glanced at the grandfather clock; It was five-fifteen. His belongings were already packed and ready to go, but Dumbledore hadn't arrived. Hard as he focused to sit still, his body refused to cooperate. He leaned back on the couch, and sat forward, crossed and uncrossed his arms.  'It's only a quarter past,' he told himself firmly. 'It's not that late.' Although, he had always thought Professor Dumbledore a punctual sort of person.

He glanced up the stairway. There hadn't been a sound for nearly an hour. It was a deadly silence, though. Dumbledore's lateness was probably adding fuel to the fire that was Uncle Vernon's temper. Harry knew by now the Dursleys considered people of the wizarding world to be never on time, as a well as abnormal and dangerous. Harry stood up and sat back down. He wanted to leave badly. 

He had told Uncle Vernon yesterday about Professor Dumbledore coming to pick him up. The response was extraordinary, in a way. Uncle Vernon had told Harry (in so many words) he refused to meet 'that old fool' and would stay upstairs. Harry tried to hide the relief on his face when he'd heard that. He would tell Professor Dumbledore his Uncle wasn't feeling well, if he were asked. Uncle Vernon had also said would not come down until they 'take Harry away.' 

'I wish Dumbledore would come and take me away soon,' thought Harry. He leaned one elbow on the arm of the sofa, still looking at the clock. Hedwig gave a soft hoot, as if sensing his tension, and Harry put his fingers through the cage and stroked her feathers. More minutes ticked by. It was half past five.

A knock sounded from the doorway so suddenly Harry jumped, disrupting Hedwig's cage. She hooted indignantly, and pecked his hand in a reprimanding manner. Harry stood up to get the door; thankful Professor Dumbledore had finally arrived. When he opened the door, however, he quickly wanted to slam it shut.  

"Hello Harry. How have you been?"

Harry gaped, loosing all the feeling in his legs.  Oh no. This was very bad. 

"Mrs. Figg?" he croaked. He cleared his throat. "What are you . . I mean, er – how are you?" His expression was purely bewildered.

"Just fine, thanks." She stepped into the door, surveying the room. Harry stood fixed on his spot, not knowing what to do. He hadn't known the Aunt Petunia was expecting a guest. His mouth opened and closed to speak, but he couldn't think of a word to say.

"Aunt and Uncle home?" she asked Harry. She began shuffling through her green bag, which displayed very interesting patchwork.

Harry nodded mutely. Aunt Petunia _wouldn't_ invite someone over at this time, he knew she wouldn't. The Dursleys would never take the chance if it involved someone finding out about their connection with the wizarding world. Maybe it was a surprise visit. And if it was . . . what was he going to do? 

"I see all your things are packed up," said Mrs. Figg, making Harry jump again. She took no regard to Hedwig.

Harry nodded vaguely, his mind still reeling. He couldn't send her away. But, she couldn't _be_ here. She just couldn't. Dumbledore might be here any minute, and here was Mrs. Figg, pulling out a wand. "A wand?" Harry said aloud,  snapping0 to attention. Mrs. Figg blew a bit of dust of the end of the wand, looking at Harry with interest. He looked from the wand to Mrs. Figg in disbelief. She was smiling very slightly.

"Are you a – witch?" The words were incredulous. He barely heard himself saying them.

Mrs. Figg actually laughed. It sounded very bizarre coming from her. The change in her manner was incredible. It was not that she looked any different. She was still old, still wore hand-knitted clothes, and still smelled of cats. Her demeanor was what had completely changed. She was acting like a stranger to Harry. She looked cheerful and gave him warm smiles, a great contrast to her usual crooked expression. He had always thought her a bit mad, but that had faded as well. 

"Ready?" She stood by Harry's things, her wand raised.

Harry started at her abruptness. "What, right now?" he asked.

"Well, I see no need to waste time," Harry noted the briskness in her nature. She motioned him to come near her.

"I thought Professor Dumbledore was going to pick me up."  He said curiously.

"Professor Dumbledore is very busy these days Harry. I'm the next best thing." 

'Next best thing?' He thought quizzically. "How, er, what do you mean?"

"Well, I'm a very powerful witch Harry. I needed to be."

"But . . . why?" Harry hoped he wasn't asking too many questions, but Mrs. Figg seemed to be leading him to ask one after another.

"I'm your guardian in the Muggle world, Harry. That's a very important job." She paused in afterthought. "I'm one of few, actually."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say to that. He walked up to Mrs. Figg. There were people in the Muggle World who watched over him? He began to wonder who possibly it could be, but those inquiries shoved to the back of his mind when Mrs. Figg raised her wand again. Going to the Weasleys became his main concern again. He could ask more questions later.

Mrs. Figg laid a gnarled hand on his shoulder. She gripped her wand very surely in the other hand. It suddenly dawned on Harry what kind of magic she was going to use. He turned his head to ask, when his vision blocked out.

Harry tripped, but something caught his balance very quickly again. It was the ground. It was as if it had flickered off for a second. He looked around, still stunned. The Dursley's living room had disappeared, and new location was familiar.  He was at the Burrow. Before he could completely come to sorts, someone ran to him and embraced him tightly. The force of the hug nearly knocked off his glasses.

"Oh Harry dear, I'm so glad your safe."

It was Mrs. Weasley. Harry caught sight of Ron over her shoulder. His finger was pointing to his ear, and he was twirling it slightly.  He was grinning, though.

"You can let him breathe now, mum," said someone good-naturedly. 

It was one of the twin's voices. Mrs. Weasley withdrew. "Oh, sorry Harry," She straightened his collar and glasses, looking at him with a concerned face. "Are you alright? Did you have a safe trip . . . you look worn out dear . . . "

"I'm fine," he replied, hiding a smile.

He bent to pick up his things. Mrs. Weasley turned to the three Weasley boys behind her. From the looks on their faces, Harry could tell Mrs. Weasley was looking at them expectantly. 

"Well, help him with his things," she finally said. 

"Oh no, I can get it," said Harry quickly. Mrs. Weasley shook her head. 

"They need something constructive to do," she said tersely, glaring at Fred and George. They, however, both grinned and flashed Harry thumbs-up signs. Mrs. Weasley looked a little baffled.

"We live to serve," declared George, picking up Hedwig's cage. They both lugged Harry's things upstairs. Ron stayed behind with him. Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley turned to Mrs. Figg, and took her hands graciously and shook them. "Thank you for bringing him Arabella."

Mrs. Figg nodded. "Was no trouble at all," she said "Besides, it only took a minute." Harry was all of a sudden curious on how they got here.

"Did we Disapparate?" he asked. It was the only conclusion he had come to.

"It is sort of like Disapparation, but with more than one person," she replied. "I had to go through some training. It's a privileged power, and is only used in emergency situations, really." 

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley suddenly. "I left something cooking." She said goodbye to Mrs. Figg and hurried back to the kitchen.  Mrs. Figg brandished her wand again.

"I'll be off now, " she said, straightening her hat.

"'Bye Mrs. Figg," said Harry quickly. " . . .and, thank you."

She pinched Harry's cheek affectionately. "Take care of yourself, Harry," she said. She stood up straight, raising her wand over her head, and was suddenly gone.

"C'mon," said Ron. Harry stopped looking at the spot where Mrs. Figg had just been standing. "Maybe if we both beg, my mum will give us some food."

"I wouldn't count on it," said a blunt voice. It was coming from the entrance to the kitchen. Harry turned and saw Ginny standing in the doorway. She was leaning slightly on the doorframe, holding a stack of plates with a book laid on top.  Her bright hair was in a ponytail, a wry grin on her face.   "Hello Harry," she said affably.

"Hi Ginny," he replied.  He glanced at the heavy load in her hands.  "You need some help?"

Ron gave an exaggerated groan, his mind quite apparently still on food. "It's already past six," he complained.

Ginny shrugged. "I know," she said. She lifted the plates she was holding a bit. "I've been assigned table-setting duty for eating – um, whatever that stuff she's cooking was. And she wants your help too Ron."

Ron was aghast. "But I didn't eat anything! That's not fair." 

He walked grumpily to the kitchen, and Ginny stepped aside as he huffed past her.  She looked as if she was trying not to laugh.  Harry found it hard not to laugh as well.  He walked towards the kitchen, again offering Ginny assistance.

She went slightly pink when he asked her again, but shook her head. 

"Thanks for offering," she answered. She went to set the tables outside. Ron called him from the kitchen.

"Hey Harry! Come help me with these table – "

"Ron! I told _you_ to do that."

Harry laughed; glad he was back with the Weasleys. He felt much more relaxed, and joined Ron and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen; it was comforting to be back among people who really knew him, and cared about him.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/U: Whew! This is much longer than chapter one. As for Arabella Figg, she is mentioned in book four as being part of the wizarding circle, but I don't even know if it's the same Figg as Harry's neighbor. Ah well, for this fic, it is ^-^ 


	3. Breakfast and Quidditch

Ron?"

Ron turned over on his bed, trying to block out the voice.  Who on earth was calling him at this hour?  They had been nagging for some time, persisting until they had drawn him out of the warmth of sleeping.  Ignoring did no good.  He scrunched his eyes, suddenly aware of the sunlight hitting his face.  Pulling the covers completely over himself, he tried to fall back asleep.

"Oy, Ron!" 

Did they not get it?  He – wanted – to – sleep.  How simple could a request get?  He felt someone poke him on the side.  And again.  He swiped blindly in the air, groaning.  He thought he heard a someone snigger.  Then silence.  Good.  They'd finally given up.  Shifting himself into a more comfortable position, he started to drift again.  That is, until something hit him square on the face.  He made a noise of surprise, his mouth full of pillowed-feather.

"Oomph!  Wha – who!?"     

He bolted upright, looking around wildly for the culprit.  He rubbed his eyes, his vision blurred in confusion.  A very shameless Harry stood near his bed holding a pillow in his hand.  He had a triumphant grin on his face; his unruly hair and rumpled pajamas added humor to the picture.  Ron would have laughed at him if the expression were not at his own expense.

"Morning," said Harry cheerfully.

Ron grabbed his own pillow and chucked it at him; Harry dodged it swiftly.  Having no more ammunition, all he could do was give Harry his deadliest glare.

"Why'd you wake me?" He asked groggily.

"Breakfast Ron," said Harry wisely.  He was not dressed, but looked like he'd been awake awhile.  "It's nearly nine 'o' clock."

"Nine 'o' clock, huh?"  Ron flopped back onto his bed, regretting that he'd thrown his pillow.  He rested on his arm for comfort.

"If your mum has to come get you, she'll be a lot less nice about it," remarked Harry.

"Yeah, and getting bashed by a pillow was nice."

They both went downstairs; the smell of sizzling bacon greeted them.  Everyone else was already awake.  Ron and Harry said good morning and sat down.  Mrs. Weasley popped her head into the room from the kitchen and said they would have to wait a bit for some breakfast.  Ron looked around the table for something to eat, and was surprised to see his Dad.  He was having toast and coffee, but was not dressed in work robes.

"You're not going to work today dad?" he asked.

His dad shook his head, sipping his coffee.  "I have to leave at ten, but not to the office." he said.  Ginny put a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him.  "Ah, thank you Ginny."

"Where are you going then?" asked Ron, reaching for the toast.

"Secret mission," whispered Fred, who was on his left.  "If he tells you, he'll have to kill you."  Ron looked at Fred dubiously.

"I'm going to meet with a few people from the ministry," replied Mr. Weasley.  "It's about the propaganda issue."  

"Dad, that has nothing to do with your department."

"Yes, well I was personally asked to attend.  All the news that's been going around is really getting to be a problem."

Ron considered this.  He hadn't paid much attention to articles in the Daily Prophet or any other newspapers until last year.  Those he couldn't help but pay attention to, since they were about Harry.  They were food for gossipers, and not much else.  Hermione also appeared in them, in a very unseemly light.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ginny, who came from the kitchen again, carrying her own plate.  Mrs. Weasley followed, carrying Harry and Ron's plates.  

Mr. Weasley put down his fork, his eyebrows furrowing. "Well, we are hoping to get a general _true _statement out to the public . . . but," he paused.  Ron watched his dad, who now began to rub his temples in consternation.  "Fudge."  A silence provoked by that one syllable fell upon the table.  Mr. Weasley continued, though it seemed like he was talking more to himself.

"I knew this would happen." There was a strained timbre in his voice, and Mrs. Weasley came and put a comforting hand on his shoulder; Mr. Weasley relaxed slightly.  "Fudge let this go out of control, and now he wants us to calm down the public, but at the same time restricting what we say."

"You're trying your best," said Mrs. Weasley gently.  "That's all you can do right now."  She gave him an encouraging look, which Mr. Weasley returned with a wan smile.  Ron looked from one parent to the other, sensing the conversation full of hidden details.  He wished his parents would tell him more.  He glanced at Harry, who was staring at his plate, a cloudy expression on his face.  

Ron knew the propaganda his dad was referring to was of a very different nature than the kind he read last year.  He had read the articles that had appeared recently of course, and wondered how so many people could swallow up the rubbish being printed.  _You-know-who claims the lives of four families. . . will yours be next? _ That wasn't all.  There was the opposite of it too: _All reports of He-who-must-not-be-named declared false by the Ministry of Magic.  _No wonder there was so much confusion.

The tense moment was relieved when an owl swooped in through the window.  It flew once around the table, and then dropped a letter near Ginny, which fell to the floor.  Ron saw Harry pick it up and hand it to her.  She murmured a thanks and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning it quickly.  She smiled as she read it.

"Who's it from?" inquired Mrs. Weasley.  

Ginny raised her head, looking a little surprised.  "Oh," she said.  Ron saw her eyes dart to him and back to their mum.  "It's – um, from . . ."  Again her eyes darted to him.  He picked up his orange juice, giving her an odd look.  Why the hell was she– 

"It's from Hermione," she said finally; looking determinedly at her mother.  "She says that she can stay here."  Ron nearly spit out his juice.  He did, however, manage to swallow before he started coughing.  Fred hit him rather forcefully on the back a few times until Mr. Weasley motioned for him to stop.  "Her-Hermione?" Ron spluttered, finally able to use his voice, if not properly.  "_She_ wrote t-to _you_?"

Ginny looked extremely annoyed.  "Yes," she retorted, emphasizing each word Ron had.  "_She_ wrote to _me_.  We had fun last time she was here, so I invited her again."  She turned to her mother, as if continuing a private conversation.  "She'll be here in about a we-" 

Ron got out of his chair in a flash.  "Let me see it."  He rounded the table, and tried to snatch the letter away.  Ginny quickly pulled it out of his reach.  He was about to make another grab for it when he caught the looks that Fred, George, (and what's worse) his parents were giving him.  He felt his face grow hot, and lowered his arms reluctantly to his sides.  Why couldn't they mind their own business?  He cleared his throat and decided to try another tact.  "So Gin," he began, trying to sound simply curious. "What does the letter say?"

Inside, he was boiling.  What does it say!  He had every bloody right to know what it said.  Hermione was his friend, and he had written to her as well.  Why didn't she write him back?  And why did she write to Ginny.  Maybe Hermione was hiding something from him.   And from Harry.  He added the last part, feeling a strange sensation when it considered only Hermione and himself.  She probably did visit that prat in Bulgaria.  That's why Ginny wouldn't show him the letter, and – and his mum!  Another burst of anger flooded through him.  His mum must have known that Ginny had invited Hermione, because Ginny had to get permission.  Why didn't they tell himthat one of _his _best friendsmight come visit?  It was a damn conspiracy.  

Ginny had begun to fold the letter again, ignoring his question.  He stood next to her, fidgeting uncomfortably under the whole families attention.  She's really a pain sometimes, he thought angrily.  He asked her once more, his voice less controlled.  "Ginny?  The letter?"

Ginny speared some food daintily with her fork.  She chewed it very slowly and thoroughly before answering.  "It says," she replied, enunciating every vowel as if Ron were a three-year-old.  "that Hermione can come over."  She returned to her meal.

Ron did not bother to ask her again.  Not just yet, anyway.  He sat down in his chair once more.  Everyone else continued to eat.  No – wait.  That wasn't true.  He could sense Fred and George looking at him.  Everyone else would turn back to their breakfast but them.

"Don't worry Ron," said Fred in a comforting tone.  "I'm sure your dear little Hermione will be glad to see you."

Ron nearly choked again.  "She's not my – "  he began furiously, but then halted.  His ears burning, he stabbed viciously at his food with his fork.  

"Not your . . . what?"  asked George sweetly.  Ron glued his eyes to his plate, not wanting to look at either of their stupid grins.

"Oh stop, you two," scolded Mrs. Weasley.  For once in his life, Ron was grateful for her reproach.  The rest of breakfast was spent in light chatter, though Ron did not share in much of it.  His food was tasteless to him now, but he finished it.  After the plates were cleared, Mrs. Weasley sent them all to dress.  Ron headed quickly for the stairs, to avoid Fred and George.  He felt Harry close behind.  When they were halfway up the stairs, Ron suddenly turned to face him.

"Quidditch?"   

"Yeah, all right," Harry replied, and they continued up the stairs.

Ron was relieved at least one person in this house was not going to tease him about what happened at breakfast.

Harry gripped his broom tightly, mounting it and kicking of the ground.  He rose nearly thirty feet before slowing down, making sure he didn't go past the treetops.  The hot afternoon sun was cooling down, and a gentle breeze was blowing.  Harry rode leisurely back and forth; it felt wonderful to fly again.  The feeling of floating in midair, unattached to the earth, was relaxing.  It almost made him forget everything.  Last time he flew wasn't exactly pleasant, what with flames dancing at his heels, but even then he'd felt the comfort of riding his broomstick.  He hoped Quidditch would be back next year.

Harry noticed Fred and George below with their broomsticks.  Harry had been the first to find his, since he had just packed it yesterday.  He was waiting for Ron and the twins; Ron was apparently still inside, hunting for his broom.  Harry lowered himself twenty feet or so to talk to Fred and George.

"Almost a year without Quidditch, and now you're all rusty Potter," said George.

"Yes, our former lord and master Oliver Wood would be very displeased," added Fred.  

Harry grinned.  "Speaking of which, who is going to be the new captain this year?"

"We're going to vote before school starts," explained Fred.  "And we have to find a new player as well."  

"Oh yeah."  Harry had been wondering about that.  "How long will that take?"

"Not _too _long, we hope."  George looked thoughtful.  "Heard McGregor say he was going to give it a shot."

Fred snorted.  "McGregor?  He still has that twitching eye from when he got pelted with a bludger.  Hathorne's a good bet, though."

"But she wants to play _Chaser_," pointed out George.  "We need a Keeper."

Fred shrugged.  "We'll find somebody in time."

They waited a bit longer for Ron to come out.  He did a few minutes later, with a loud bang of the screen door.  He had his broom, but still looked rather tetchy.

"I think Ginny was using it.  Took me _ages _to find."  He sighed.  "She disappeared off somewhere…anyway."

Ron mounted his broom and kicked off.  "What do you say?  Me and Harry against you two?"

Fred and George grinned.  "You're on."  

The game lasted until two.  Mrs. Weasley appeared under them at that time, and announced that lunch was nearly ready.

The twins flew quickly to the ground, dismounting from their brooms.  "Hey Ron, get Ginny, will you?" called George skyward.  He followed Fred inside.

Ron flew beside Harry, squinting at the clearing.  "D'you see her?  Shouldn't be too hard, with the hair and all."  Ron shot ahead, calling Ginny's name.

Harry scanned the area for a minute, then shot in the opposite direction.  He flew between two trees, and spotted a small pond not far ahead.  A redheaded figure was sitting near the pond, leaning on her elbows.  Her bare feet were splashing idly.  

"Ginny!"  Harry called, then realized he was still at a considerable distance.  He glided over to her, his broom situated above her, near the tops of a low tree.  She didn't notice him.  Her eyes seemed to be closed.

He watched her for a moment.  There was a very strange appearance about her.  She ought to have been relaxed, what with the cool breeze and the shaded tree she was under.  But as she tilted her head backwards, her ponytail swinging behind her, there seemed to be a sort of quiet vexation on her face.  She almost looked like she was concentrating.

"HEY, DID YOU FIND HER HARRY!"  Harry jumped.  Ginny blinked.

Harry fixed his glasses, which had half-slipped off his nose, then turned his head left.  Ron was waving impatiently.  He seemed to have no problem shouting from far distances.  Harry, feeling slightly foolish, looked down.  Ginny was sitting straight up, her feet tucked under her.  

"Err, lunch," said Harry.  

"Oh, thanks," said Ginny.  She sounded flustered herself, but she continued looking above her.  "I'll be right there."

"Okay," said Harry, a bit awkwardly.  He paused.  It wasn't terribly far from the Burrow, but still . . . shouldn't he offer her a – a ride, or something?  Their lunches were probably getting cold. 

"HARRY!"  Ron's voice once again came thundering across the trees.  Harry looked up again.  "YEAH, I FOUND HER," he yelled back.  "I'M COMING NOW."  A second, and then an "OKAY!" from the Ron's direction.

Harry found no Ginny when he looked down again.  She seemed to have disappeared into the trees.  He wondered how she got away so fast, and hoped she hadn't run from him.  He listened carefully for her footsteps, but hearing nothing, he figured she must've got a bit of ways from him.  Resigned, he gripped him broom, and flew in the direction of the Burrow.


End file.
